


Obscene Thoughts Pt.4

by cuntblunt



Series: Telepath Reader Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath, M/M, Possessive Crowley (Supernatural), male reader - Freeform, not smut, sigil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntblunt/pseuds/cuntblunt
Summary: The reader has found themselves in a bit of a dilemma when they have to go back to the bunker after hooking up with the one and only King of Hell. What he and the Winchesters discover as a result of their affair raises more questions on what it means to be Crowley's.
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural)/Reader, Crowley (Supernatural)/You
Series: Telepath Reader Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/304080
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Obscene Thoughts Pt.4

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It sure has been a while, huh? A part four for this series has been highly requested, but it was hard to get back on the train since the three previous parts were based off of prompts for its continuation rather than my own brainstorms. I would like to do another part after this but could probably use a few ideas thrown my way. I hope you like how the story is turning out!

After my third encounter with the King of Hell, it took a few days for me to return to the bunker. At first, I had Crowley drop me off at the nearest motel to the bunker.. He had obliged, after hearing how the Winchesters already knew or correctly assumed what we were doing. I figured he might take some time in hiding as well. He gently told me he would see me again, soon, and we parted ways quietly. It was rather uncanny compared to the rough play from before. 

I paid the lady at the front desk for a few days in advance before heading to my single room. My body ached as I carried my necessities bag, so ready for a long shower and to sleep. I undressed in front of the floor-length mirror screwed to the bathroom door and witnessed the aftermath of Crowley. Normally I would revel in the finger-shaped bruises and hickeys on my skin, but something felt so wrong about whom they came from. I shook my head in an attempt to clear my mind of anxiety and doubt and set the shower on high temperature. It would take a lot of scrubbing to get all of this sulfur off of me. 

The only thing left to do was reflect on what I had thrown myself into. So aroused, so willing to be in Crowley’s arms as if it were an okay thing to do, as if I should’ve been canoodling with someone so powerful yet evil. However, I knew that there was only one perspective the Winchesters would have in mind: betrayal. A relationship with someone who is more often their opponent than their ally could only tear me between the two parties no matter where I personally stand. One finds me to be family and a fellow hunter while the other wants to put me in his pocket. To Crowley, I am his, and I’m not exactly sure what being “his” means. 

I never took the time to think this through before. It hadn’t crossed my mind how he found me in the bar that night at the first sign of someone else paying attention to me. I took the punishment he gave without even thinking to explain that I wasn’t going to go home with the bartender and that I had just ran from the Winchesters due to what we had done earlier. Was he watching me since we met? Is he watching me at this moment? My skin crawled with the feeling that my rose-colored glass had hidden all of the red flags until now. While the brothers were simply concerned about me interacting with him, I bet they never thought I’d be added to the list of Crowley’s possessions. I didn’t expect it either. 

The days away from the bunker were spent alone. The brothers would try to call until I sent a text saying I’m taking a breather and shut my phone off. Crowley never popped in, and for that I was glad. It was time for me to construct how I would face the brothers when I felt ready to go back. Every time I seemed prepared to return to the bunker, the disgust on their faces would flash in my mind. My sparkling reputation with them had gone down the drain just because I had dick for brains. But eventually, I would have to go.

In the evening of the third day, I made my walk back to the bunker. The breeze barely made up for the dry heat that beat down on the arid land. After two days of rest, my body was basically back to normal, only a slight soreness in my hips when I walked. Each step I took towards the bunker was filled with anticipation of how Sam and Dean would react to my return. I could only guess what they would want to know, but I never really talked to them about my interests in the first place. They’ve known that I’m gay since the first time we all went to the bar together and Dean offered to be my wingman, which I declined with a very polite, “I prefer men”. That was the only time it came up, and it understandably never seemed to be of concern. However, now I was afraid of them prying for such information, even though I felt I could trust them not to. 

The railings outside of the bunker came into view sooner than I had expected. There was no telling if the brothers were home or not from the outside, but I had a feeling that there was no hope of avoiding this any longer. As I entered the bunker, I immediately noticed that all of the lights were on. Somebody  _ is _ home. I winced as the door shut behind me with a heavy thud and treaded down the steps carefully. Nobody was sitting in the war room, but I heard a chair scrape in the library. Every inch of me stilled, fighting the cowardly part of me that wanted to run out again.

“Hold on, Dean, I think…,” I heard Sam say as his footsteps approached. He paused at the entrance of the library, staring with a look I hadn’t seen before. “He’s here,” he said and ended the call. 

Sam cleared the space between us with his long strides and nearly lunged to wrap his arms around me. The shock of the embrace led me to miss a beat before hugging back as if my life depended on it. My feet barely touched the floor as he held me tighter. This was far from what I expected. I wasn’t sure if it was deserved.

When Sam released me, that look was still in his eyes. I couldn’t discern if it was curiosity or worry, but his stare held me in place. The silence was palpable. 

I coughed and glanced down, “Uh, hey, I’m sorry I ran off like-”

“Like you were caught red-handed?” Sam finished. 

There was no way I could meet his gaze. He should be angry, he was every reason to be. 

“I know what I did is stupid, and I can’t exactly pinpoint why I did everything so willingly,” I said. I lifted my head to meet Sam’s ambiguous stare. “I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Sam nodded and led me to the table where we could sit and talk. I started from the beginning, how Crowley had been thinking of me sexually from the start and how he seemed to find me again at the bar. I left out the gorey details but didn’t forget to tell how Crowley had a plan to use my new face and telepathy in order to infiltrate Dick’s company. Sam listened without question, giving little input on what he actually thought about the situation. In his mind, I imagined I’m still young and stupid despite not being that much younger. 

As we talked, the bunker door opened again. I froze once more, glancing at Sam. Sam has always been more understanding of mistakes as he knows he is not perfect either, but Dean had a harsher way of dealing with situations. Sam nodded at me, patting my hand before standing up to help Dean with whatever groceries he brought back. But Dean’s footsteps were quick and heavy, dropping the bags on the nearest table before stopping short. 

“What the hell is on your neck, Y/N?” Dean barked. 

I whipped around, slapping the back of my neck, “What do you mean?” If Crowley left a hickey I swear to…

“Move your hand, it looks like a symbol,” Sam said. 

I lifted my hand and felt Sam’s fingertips brush against my neck. He muttered something about having never seen it before and grabbed his phone to take a picture. When he handed me his phone so that I could see it for myself, I definitively knew I was fucked. 

We spent hours searching through the library of the Men of Letters. The amount of tension in my body made it hard to focus and get my questions answered. Every benevolent symbol it could be was soon out of the picture as none of them were identical to my new tattoo. I can hardly remember when Crowley could have put it on me nor figure out why he felt the need to. It didn’t seem to be doing anything to my body, but I also couldn’t be sure until we found out what it was. 

Sam stood out of his chair and came to me with a book in his hands. As he studied the symbol on my neck, I knew he found what it meant. He sat the book in front of me and pulled out a chair beside me. 

“So it turns out there isn’t an exact name for this sigil, but it does hold an amount of power,” Sam started. “It says it’s mostly used for protection of the sigil’s host, however it also lays a sort of “claim” on them. Here it says they cannot harm the one who placed the sigil on them but “cannot be hurt by any being other than their ultimate protector”.” His fingers skimmed the page to find more. “The “claim” can be recognized by other beings such as demons, angels, monsters, obviously he’s not concerned about humans…”

_ “Do you wish to be my pet forever?” _

_ “Yes.” _

My emotions rushed before me as my mind was brought back to that hotel room. This is what I had agreed to in a moment of lust? I barely registered the chair crashing behind me as I ran to the nearest trash can with my hand clutched over my mouth. As I began to wretch and cough I felt a soothing hand on my back. I wanted to sob for there was no way I could face the brothers and tell them I had fundamentally done this to myself. I wasn’t thinking straight and had no time to decipher that Crowley could mean it in any other way than just the sexual relationship we had begun. 

And now…

I wiped my mouth and stood up, fetching my knife from my pocket and flicking it open. “Cut it off,” I demanded, holding the knife out to either man. 

Dean’s brows furrowed, “I don’t think that’s how it work-”

“Fine,” I interrupted as I slashed the blade at the back of my neck. 

The slit stung for a second as the brothers stared at me with wide eyes. I hesitantly brought my fingers to the back of my neck to find no wound, no trace of blood. I couldn’t even harm myself. A frustrated scream built in my lungs as I dropped the knife to the floor. I glanced at the Winchesters for some kind of answer and only found more questions. 

What do we do now?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment or suggestion on how the story should continue. I would love to see who's still interested in this verse.


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